Chapter Text
Charlotte stood, looking out to sea. Her hands lightly gripped the railing, The salty breeze tousled her hair.
She glanced at her left hand. At the two bands that encircled her left ring finger. They were both gleaming platinum, one deceptively simple. The other more ornate, with a glittering diamond set in a bed of blue crystal.
Idly, she twisted the rings with her thumb and forefinger.
Charlotte was forced to admit that it had been a beautiful ceremony. Spectacular, even. Westminster Abbey had been decked out in finery not seen since the Queen's funeral. The Royal Houses of Europe were all in attendance. Counts and barons, dukes, kings and queens. Emperors.
And Charlotte's dress. Beautiful. Gossamer and aery. Far lighter to wear than she'd feared.
And as she'd been escorted down the aisle by her uncle, William the Duke of Normandy, Regent to the young queen Mary, she could forget. Forget, just for a moment, the mistakes she'd made. The lives she'd ruined. The women she'd been forced to betray. And her uncle's hand in the matter.
And Alexander, indifferent though she'd been to him, had cut quite the figure. Wearing his forest green uniform, chest weighted with medals and ribbons, standing straight and proud. And the way his eyes lit when he saw her. The thin but genuine smile to come to his lips.
Charlotte's cheeks had reddened. And her blush had intensified when her veil was lifted, and she couldn't keep a shy, silly grin off her face.
She had toned out most of the ceremony. Jolting back when it was her time to confirm her marital vows. Looking out over the audience with forlorn, hopeless expectancy when the question was asked.
Objections?
She had hoped to see a dark-clad figure with silvery hair and fierce blue eyes rise up, glowing in green. Objecting in action. Stealing her away.
But no.
Ange was not there.
She, Charlotte, had betrayed her. Betrayed her, and their, ideals. And she would never, ever, see her again.
She closed her eyes. Felt them tingle. Forced the tears to hold back. No. No, she could not and would not cry
And then, her mind turned to the next event of the marriage. She remembered the kiss. It was a moment she'd dreaded. Her intimate contact with Alexander. Sealing their marital contract.
Her left hand raised to her lips. They'd begun to tingle faintly. A physical manifestation of the memory.
Alexander had been gentle. Tender. Soft, and sweet. In a way that only one other had been. It had not been her first of course. Though the one that had that honor ....
Grudging acceptance became more. She had leaned into the kiss. Not quite melted. She'd not quite felt that much. It was, however, more than she'd expected. And perhaps it gave her some small hope. That maybe her new husband, shudder though she might at the very idea, might not represent a hellish existence.
"Charlotte?"
She half-turned. Alexander was coming up slowly behind her. He'd changed into a more casual uniform. His medals were gone, his coat was just heavy enough to dull the chill Atlantic breeze.
"Hm." She turned back to the sea. Not hellish. Certainly not heavenly.
He stood beside her. "Are you feeling ill?"
"No."
His hands came to rest on the railing, near to hers. "The crew and the press are waiting."
"They can continue to do so,"
Silence, for a long moment.
"Charlotte ...."
"You realize this is exile, for me."
"Yes," Alexander whispered.
Charlotte sighed. "I am being sent away, for rumored crimes. Used as a political trinket. I am too valuable to dispose of, too worthless to keep around."
"You are not worthless," Alexander whispered.
Charlotte did not respond.
"Please, Charlotte. Give me a chance. When I accepted my vows, I meant them. Quite precisely. I do vow to love you, even if you do not, or even cannot, love me."
"Mm."
"Just let me prove it to you."
"I have little choice."
"That hurts."
"It is true. As my husband I can hardly refuse you anything, can I?"
Further silence.
"Charlotte, it might, perhaps, be best to get this over with. The silly ceremony I mean."
"Yes. Give me one moment."
"Very well."
His hands left the railing. He took a step back, turned, and paced slowly up deck.
Charlotte closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. The air was chilly. Salty. Bracing.
She had pretended for years. Pretended to be a royal. A princess. Then, pretended to be loyal. To have only the normal ambitions of a royal girl. Then she pretended to be a spy.
She winced. That applied two ways: first, when she intended to be a spy, but hadn't the makings for it. Then, after everything had unraveled ... but it was best not to think of that. Thoughts of that sort reminded her yet again of the girl she'd betrayed.
She shook her head. Took another deep breath. She opened her eyes, and forced a smile on her face.
Then she turned. Alexander stood there, watching her. A thin smile formed on his lips.
Her cheeks reddened again. Under other circumstances, she'd curse the reaction, but now it helped.
The crew and the press were all on hand. It was an absurd tradition. Demeaning, in a way. And really, why now of all times? After they'd set off on their trip across the ocean?
Charlotte stood beside Alexander. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders. One of his rested on her lower back. Then the other hooked beneath her knees, and in a smooth motion raised her up into his arms.
A Princess carry. The irony would be bitter, if she allowed it to be.
He managed it without effort. His strong arms didn't strain under her weight. She leaned against him, and he was solid. Unwavering.
She laughed. Played up the moment. Being a princess and a spy taught her that: read the audience. Give them what they expect. Do not be yourself. Never be yourself. Be what they want you to be.
In that moment they wanted a princess smitten with her strong and handsome prince. A slightly silly girl, pretty and yielding.
So, that is what they got
She managed to avoid being blinded by the flash-bulbs of the cameras. And to avoid cringing at the thought that those photos, and the story of her handsome prince carrying her across the threshold into their matrimonial love-nest, would be on every newspaper's front page, all across the world.
She was grateful when the door closed behind them. She slipped out of his arms, and moved away.
He busied himself by locking the door, and taking a deep breath.
"Charlotte?"
She was on the other side of the room. Her head was bowed. Eyes half-closed. She was looking, very studiously, down at her own feet.
He crossed the room to her. To her side. Keeping his hands carefully crossed in front of his chest.
"Charlotte?"
She glanced up at him, head still lowered.
"Are you alright?"
She shook her head.
He sighed. "You are afraid."
"Fear is not the right word," she said. Quiet. Voice thin.
"Still. You do not desire to, how shall I phrase this delicately? To consummate our marriage."
"No."
"I do not wish to hurt you, physically or emotionally. I shall not force you, now or ever. Just ... what can I say?"
Charlotte shrugged.
He sighed, and sat down on the bed. He patted the space beside him.
Charlotte, reluctantly, sat down beside him. Looking down at the floor.
"If you wish, we will not do anything. Not until you are ready. But, please know, the nation, nay the world, will be watching. Expecting."
Charlotte winced.
"I know. It is unavoidable. If we do not produce children .…"
"The marriage can be annulled."
Alexander laughed. "So that's your plan?" He sounded genuinely amused.
Charlotte shrugged, but couldn't quite help from grinning. "It would work."
Alexander's expression turned serious. "No. It would not. I know already my father would never accept such an outcome."
Charlotte's expression melted.
"To be honest, and I say this as a politician and not as a man, it would be best to rip the bandage off."
"Now?" The word was thin. Paper-thin. Brittle.
"Yes."
"Lay back and think of Albion, as my late grandmother would say."
"It is for the best."
"I do not believe that it is."
He sighed, again. "Very well. I am afraid, however, that tonight we must share this bed."
"Hm."
"The crew would notice."
"Yes."
"There would be questions."
"Scandal."
"I will not touch you. Not if you don't wish it."
"I ... I know."
"I am glad that you do. Charlotte, I know this is not your desire. You don't want to be my wife. Don't want to be a mother."
"It is as I said before. I am an exile. Not a wife."
"You say that. You may even believe that. I do not. Please, Charlotte. Give me a chance. Just, let me show you. You can lead a good, meaningful life."
"Can I?"
"My father knows of your political views."
"Hm."
"So long as you do not commit treason ...."
Charlotte winced in spite of herself.
"Charlotte?"
"Apologies." Thin. Brittle.
"I mean, so long as you don't challenge certain traditions, certain policies, he approves you championing your liberal causes."
"How noble,"
"It really is, Charlotte. The Russian Empire has been called many things, but liberal has not been among them."
"I suppose not. And, I suppose it is something,"
They were quiet, for another moment.
"Alexander?"
"Yes?"
"I appreciate you."
"Oh,"
"I mean to say, I do not hold you to blame. I do not love you."
"Nor do I expect you to."
"But I do not hate you."
"Good,"
Silence, again.
"Alexander?"
"Alex," he replied. Sounding slightly amused.
Charlotte couldn't quite help her thin smile. "Alex."
"Yes, my dear?"
"I believe that I am ready ...."
His eyes widened. He leaned forward, just a bit.
Charlotte's face reddened, and she recoiled. "To sleep!"
"Oh." Alexander hastened to his feet. "Yes. Yes, of course my dear."
Charlotte cleared her throat. "This is a suite?"
"The washroom is through that door, if you wish to change in private."
"Please."
She only had a selection of rather too-thin negligees. No proper pajamas. Then again, her wardrobe had been selected for her, by the staff of the Royal Family. Perhaps, just perhaps, her uncle had a hand in that. He might have been afraid that she'd include some kind of weapon in her luggage?
Regardless, and with a heavy sigh, she stripped out of her dress, washed her face, and put on a sheer, silky, red outfit.
The washroom had a full-length mirror. She stared at herself in it. Turned around, to look from all angles.
Her face turned bright red. The lingerie left nothing to the imagination.
She nearly tore it off. Nearly put on her bloomers and a light corset. But she shook her head.
No. There was no escape from this.
So she exited the washroom. Padding out, bare feet sinking into the soft carpet of the bedroom.
Alexander rose as she appeared. Looked at her. Slowly, taking in every last detail.
Charlotte's cheeks brightened, her face heating further with shame. She looked down.
"Alex, I .…"
"You are beautiful."
"I would prefer you not stare."
"I cannot help it."
She didn't answer that. Instead, she moved hastily, one arm across her breasts and a hand over her crotch, to the bed. She sat down, still staring down at her feet.
She heard him sigh. Felt the bed shift, as he sat down on the other side.
"Good night, my darling, silly wife."
"Good night," Charlotte answered, terse and clipped.
Charlotte lay on her side in bed. Facing away from Alexander. Her eyes were open. The room was dim, the furniture in deep shadow. She couldn't sleep. Too much on her mind.
Tomorrow they'd reach their honeymoon destination, some island or another that was a favorite of rich and powerful Europeans. She wondered how much time she'd have to relax, and how much she'd be forced to act the loving young wife. How many eyes would be on her?
"Charlotte?"
Alexander's voice. Whispered, from close behind her.
"Hm?"
"I love you."
Charlotte felt a knot in her chest. She rolled onto her back. He was close. So very close.
"I," she started. Felt her cheeks heat. "I know," she finally said.
He reached out, gently stroking her cheek with his fingers. "I just wanted to say it. To let you know. However you feel about me, please know that I adore you, utterly."
Charlotte could only nod. Her face was turning red. She hoped the darkness kept him from seeing.
His hand settled on her shoulder.
Charlotte, after a moment of hesitation, rolled over to her side. Eased closer to him. His hand slid to her back. She looked into his eyes. He smiled.
Genuine. He looked genuine.
She hesitated another moment. Then leaned forward.
He anticipated her action. His lips grazed hers. Quick, tender contact at first. Soft. Moist.
It broke. She managed to keep her gaze even, looking into his eyes.
Genuine.
She felt. Not love. No, not that. Acceptance. This was her life now. Make the best of it.
With a quiet sigh, Charlotte renewed the kiss.
She did not fight it. Did not merely accept it.
It deepened. Her eyes closed.
Sheets rustled. His hands caressed her, softly. Her back, her sides. He pressed forward, aiming to settle her onto her back.
And as gentle as he was, as close as she came to melting into his kiss, his embrace, and accepting the promised intimacy, she felt something snap.
She pulled back abruptly, with a shocked gasp. Sitting up, her legs over the edge of the bed.
She turned away form him, her face now burning red.
"I," she started. "Sorry."
"You needn't be," he said. Soft. Quiet. His hands near to her, not touching her.
She took a deep breath, and settled back into bed. Again on her side facing him. "I am sorry."
"It is fine. I am a patient man. Take as much time as you need."
She nodded. "Thank you."
"It is as I have said already. I love you. I want you to understand that, believe it."
"I do."
He smiled. "Good. Now, get some sleep."
"It has been rather a tiring day."
"Yes."
"Good night, Alex."
He chuckled. "Good night, Charlotte."
She closed her eyes. Sighed quietly when she felt him lightly embrace her. Holding her, loose but close.
And, feeling warm and safe (safer than she'd believed she would feel under such a circumstance) finally allowed sleep to overtake her.